Slow Dancing at Sunrise Read online

  At the mention of family, Whitney bristled, breaking her own “stay cool” rule.

  “Wow, that is...quite the customer service approach.” She started across the parking lot, struggling to walk on heels that weren’t meant for crushed stone. “Fortunately for the actual proprietor, I’m not here to buy wine. But I can’t help wondering how many customers you’ve chased away with that attitude.”

  As she got closer, his jawline hardened. Already square beneath the scruffy beard, it was now set firmly in anger. If she had to guess, she’d say he was only a few years older than her. His dark hair was long enough to show thick, sweat-soaked curls. His skin was tanned and ruddy from the sun, and the layer of grime on his neck almost made her recoil in disgust. But she didn’t stop walking until she heard a low growl coming from the dog at his side.

  “Molly, hush.” His voice was low and even, at odds with the muscle she could see ticking dangerously in his cheek. “This ‘lady’ isn’t a threat.”

  He set the bag on the ground with a heavy thud. Metal clanked against metal...and a memory surfaced. That was Uncle Tony’s old tool bag. She’d often watched Tony trudge between the house and wine barn with that same bag, always fixing something. He’d taken the time to explain what each tool was for and what he was doing. As a little girl craving attention, having someone talk to her like a grown-up was beyond special. Handed down through generations of Russos, those tools had built half the structures on this property.

  What was this man doing, handling something so precious with so little regard? Was this...was this jerk stealing from Helen as well as taking advantage of her? Whitney’s fingers curled into fists.

  Ignoring her started objection, he continued, “Look, if you’re not here for wine, you’ll have to go. We’re not buying whatever you might be selling. If you’re looking for Mrs. Russo, she’s not home.” He stared hard at her to make sure she got his point. “And she’s not buying anything, either.”

  At that, he reached down to lift the tool bag, dismissing her.

  Before the thought had even fully formed in her mind, Whitney was reaching for the strap on the tool bag. As the man went to throw it back over his shoulder, she pulled, setting the weight off balance, which caused him to let go. The bag was much heavier than she anticipated, and as it came swinging toward her hip, she braced herself. This was going to leave one hell of a bruise. But at the last second, the bag jerked, tools clanking loudly as it jostled between them. He’d caught it just in time, but Whitney didn’t feel grateful. And he clearly wasn’t feeling chivalrous.

  “What the hell are you doing, lady?” Anger turned to incredulity, his brown eyes widening in surprise, before quickly morphing back to anger. “Are you insane? Let go of my tool bag!”

  “It’s not your bag,” Whitney corrected him, still clutching the strap. “And I don’t appreciate you acting like you have the authority to tell me—or anyone, for that matter—who can or cannot do business with this company. As you said, it’s family-owned, and I happen—”

  Before Whitney could continue her lecture, which wasn’t at all as articulate as she wanted, the crunch of gravel stole the attention of them both.

  A dusty blue Subaru rolled up and parked beside the house. Was Aunt Helen still driving that old thing? Whitney’s nervousness about facing her aunt after being away so long evaporated as soon as the short—and just a little round—woman got out of the car. Whitney needed an Aunt Helen hug in the worst way. She turned toward her, temporarily forgetting she was in the middle of a tug-of-war with a hired hand who smelled like a wild moose. His hand landing firmly on her arm was a sharp reminder.

  Whitney snapped her attention back in his direction, realizing she was still clutching the tool bag. They were closer than she’d thought. So close she could almost make out her own reflection in his dark eyes. His voice took on a new tone, hard and urgent.

  “Listen, Crazy. Whatever your problem is, take it somewhere else. I’m not gonna let you hassle that woman. You need to go. Now.”

  It took all of Whitney’s self-control not to slap him right in the face. Despite her spectacular downfall recently at the hands of arrogant men, she’d never been tempted toward physical violence. But this man’s touch sparked something new and dangerous inside her. Not flight, but fight. Her voice went ice-cold.

  “Take your hands. Off of me.”

  He did so immediately Now on firmer mental ground, she faced him again, barely registering the sound of the car door closing behind her. For a few seconds, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. He didn’t back away, or let go of the bag. Neither did she. She gave it a tug. He tugged back with a smirk. It was the smirk that did it. She leaned forward and hissed at him.

  “If I have anything to say about it, and I’m guessing I will, you’re about to be fired.” She knew it was foolish, but she tried again to yank the bag away. “And when you pack up to leave this place, this bag will not be among the things you take.”

  Amusement flashed briefly in his eyes, and he opened his mouth to reply. She braced herself, wary of the grim set of his jaw.

  “Whitney! You’re early! What a wonderful surprise! Come here and let me look at you!” Aunt Helen’s words caused a sudden and violent shift in his expression. For the first time, Whitney saw a shadow of discomfort. Even, perhaps, a bit of dread. Finally releasing the bag, Whitney shot him a smile of victory before turning into her aunt’s warm embrace. The clank of the tools hitting his leg made her smile turn into laughter.

  “Aunt Helen, I’m so glad to see you!”

  * * *

  AUNT HELEN?

  Luke Rutledge closed his eyes to ward off a sudden pain in his temple. Aw, crap. Helen told him her niece was coming this weekend for some last-minute visit. It never crossed his mind this raven-haired woman in full-on city bitch mode could possibly be related to sweet little Helen Russo.

  He rewound their encounter in his head. It wasn’t good. Judging from her appearance, with the ridiculous shoes, the news anchor haircut, and the sleek business attire—snug blue ankle-length trousers and a matching jacket over some silky bright green confection... Well, he’d assumed she was one of those early weekenders hoping to start off her trip with a daytime buzz and a bottle or two of chardonnay “for her and the girls” on their way to some B&B. It happened from time to time, and usually he’d be all for the extra sales. But not today. He was already behind on his to-do list, and he’d learned from experience that spoiled city types had little respect for anyone else’s time.

  ...you’re about to be fired...

  Luke couldn’t stop his grin. Need to apologize, maybe. Even though it would grind his last nerve to do it. Get fired? Not happening.

  “And you’ve already met Luke!” Helen and her niece turned in his direction. “My two favorite people in the world!”

  The brunette scowled at him over her aunt’s head. It wasn’t hard, considering Helen wasn’t much over five feet tall, and her niece was only a few inches shy of six. But it was the look on Helen’s face that struck him momentarily silent. He hadn’t seen her smile like that in ages. Not since before Tony’s fatal heart attack twenty months ago. The weight of her grief was lifted from her shoulders, at least for the moment, and she was beaming. She’d helped save him years ago, and her happiness mattered. A lot. Luke regrouped.

  “We hadn’t exchanged names yet, Helen. Your niece just got here, and started... Well, it’s a funny story.” He rubbed his thigh where the tool bag had smacked him, trying his best not to shoot the woman a blame-filled glare. “I thought she was selling something.”

  Helen laughed. “That makes sense. Why else would someone drive up here on a Thursday?”

  Luke forced a lighthearted chuckle, walking a fine line between upsetting Helen—which would be bad—and upsetting her niece...which could be fun. He held out his hands in innocence, ignoring the evil look he was getting f
rom the brunette.

  “That’s what I thought, but I couldn’t get rid of her. And believe me, I tried!” He smiled through every word, and Helen bought his act, laughing so hard she had to wipe her eye.

  “Oh, I’m sure you couldn’t! This girl has a mind of her own!” She looked up at her niece, who quickly smoothed on a smile. “Whitney, this is Luke Rutledge. Luke, this is my niece, Whitney Foster. You may have seen each other here through the years, but I don’t know that you’ve ever met. Luke is running the place for me.”

  “With you,” Luke corrected her gently. Helen had been through a hell of a rough couple of years, but she was finally starting to show an interest in the business again. He was grateful not to feel alone in caring about the winery, but he knew Helen’s recovery was still fragile. Whitney reached out and shook his hand as Helen answered.

  “Oh, Luke, all I do is show up with cookies on Saturdays. You’re the one doing the actual work.”

  “Really?” Whitney’s brow arched sharply, leaving Luke no doubts about what she meant. She released his hand as quickly as possible.

  Helen rambled on, oblivious to her niece’s sarcasm. “Oh, yes! Luke does everything now. Making the wine, running the vineyard, taking care of the place...” Whitney’s brow upped the ante and disappeared completely under a lock of dark hair that fell across her forehead. She looked toward the house, and he knew damn well what she saw. The overgrown garden. The empty porch. The ragged weeds. She wasn’t even close to knowing the story behind it, and she probably didn’t care. Another one of those judge-at-first-sight people. Having carried the Rutledge name his entire life, he was used to being on the receiving end of snap judgments from people like her. It still rankled.

  “I do what I can, Helen.” If only he could figure out a way to survive with no sleep. Until then, he needed to get that damned mower fixed before the grass got tall enough to bale. He also had to be at the bar to start his shift by seven. He bent to pick up the weathered tool bag, giving Molly a scratch on the ear while he was down there. He straightened, nodding as respectfully as he could manage. “I’d better get working on that mower. Welcome to Falls Legend, Whitney. I hope you enjoy your little visit.”

  “Oh, this is more than a little visit.” Still beaming, Helen slid her arm around Whitney’s waist. “Whitney took a sabbatical from her job to spend a month or two with us. I know the poor girl works with numbers every day, but I’m hoping I can entice her to take a look at our books while she’s here.”

  A chill slid down Luke’s spine. He didn’t know this woman, and he sure as hell didn’t need anyone poking around in their business. Things were tight enough around here without someone new sticking their nose in. Whitney’s eyes went wide with surprise, but it passed. She tucked her shining dark hair behind her ear.

  “I’d be happy to help in any way I can, Aunt Helen.” She glanced in his direction and the corner of her mouth tipped up, like a cat toying with a mouse. “I’d especially like to dig into the expenditures and see if there’s anything that can be trimmed.”

  So that’s how it was going to be. He met her gaze straight on.

  “Dig away, Miss Foster. In the meantime, I’ll be out here getting actual work done.”

  There was a determined glint in Whitney’s tip-tilted golden brown eyes, and a definite smirk factor to her smile.

  “Really? Trying to turn over a new leaf?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  HELEN RUSSO WAS FLUSTERED. It felt good. It was one step closer to feeling alive again. But the sensation was a lot like walking into a bright room from the darkness, making a person blink and shield their eyes from the light. That’s the thing about wallowing around in self-pity for almost two years—she hadn’t had to deal with pesky emotions.

  Sounds and colors had been muted, problems easily pushed aside for another day. The sensation was a lot like floating. Drifting peacefully where the currents took her. Until finally, she realized she’d been adrift far too long.

  She pulled the dessert plates from the kitchen and took them out to the event room behind the tasting room. Tony laughed twenty years ago when she suggested using what was then storage space for events. But they’d always trusted each other’s instincts, and he got to work on making it happen. That was her Tony in a nutshell—a hardworking man with a ready laugh who loved and trusted her. Facing life without him was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  She put the plates on the table with a broken sigh. Little did either of them know it would become a nice source of income as well as an area for customers to sit and enjoy a glass of wine. Once Tony finished the remodel and added a wide deck with a breathtaking view of the lake below, they’d started booking parties and meetings. The room held only sixty people, but in a small town like Rendezvous Falls, that was just right. People had the college and the golf club for bigger events, but this room was in use several days a week nearly year-round. Or at least it had been, before the heart attack that stole Tony from her life.

  White linen napkins were folded into the shape of swans, forming an elegant circle in the center of the single table by the wall of windows. Helen smoothed the lace tablecloth and told herself it was only a book club meeting. If she thought of it that way, instead of as the first time the room had been used since Tony’s funeral luncheon, she could keep moving and not break down into tears for the third time today.

  When she’d finally caved to Rick’s nagging and agreed to start hosting the club’s meetings at the winery again, she hadn’t known her niece would arrive this same week. She’d had to make a choice—get the event room ready, or get the house ready for unexpected company. In the end, Helen figured Whitney was family, so she could deal with a little clutter in the house. But to have her friends in the Rendezvous Falls Book Club see the famous event room a mess would not do at all.

  Tonight, the crystal sparkled, the wood floor gleamed, the table was beautiful and several bottles of Falls Legend’s finest wines were open on the sideboard. Her chin rose. It was important that her friends, even the fussiest ones, saw her tonight as having everything under control. Fake it till you make it, right? Even Victoria Pendergast, with all her beloved etiquette rules and high airs, would find nothing to criticize when she walked in tonight.

  “Yoo-hoo! Helen? We’re he-ere!”

  “Come on back, Vickie. Everything’s ready.” Or at least, as ready as it was going to be. She wiped her palms on her cotton skirt. Women’s voices and laughter echoed in the hallway, accented with a deep male voice joining in. Helen put her hand over her heart and took a deep breath. Tony loved the sound of laughter. He used to repeat an old Italian saying “Il riso fa buon sangue.” The first time he translated it for her, she’d been appalled. Laughter makes good blood. But Tony explained it was the Italian equivalent of “laughter is the best medicine.” It had been a long time since there’d been laughter in this place. Tony would have said it was long overdue. Her heart warmed at the idea of Tony giving her one of his “I told you so” winks.

  There were lots of oohs and ahhs and look-at-that-views as everyone came into the room. Vickie, in Chanel and pearls as usual, gave her a quick, light embrace, with air kisses over each shoulder for dramatic effect. “You look lovely, Helen!”

  “Beyond lovely. Radiant.” Huge hoop earrings jingling alongside her smile, Lena Fox gave Helen an incense-scented squeeze and went right to the sideboard for a glass of wine. As if it hadn’t been ages since Helen had hosted—or attended—a book club meeting. Lena’s hair had been worn in long intricate braids then, but now she wore it short and natural, with a dusting of silver in the mix. The trim look highlighted the artist’s high cheekbones, just as her gold earrings accented her dark skin.

  Cecile Harris, dressed head-to-toe in bright pink, squealed with excitement and hugged the air out of Helen’s lungs before heading to the food. Cecile was definitely Helen’s...bounciest...friend. Her blond hair bounced.
Her step bounced. Even her voice was bouncy.

  Rick Thomas, unfiltered as always, waved off a hug and muttered in his whiskey voice that it was “about damn time” Helen got “off her ass and did something.” Rick’s private wink was his only admission of how happy he was to be there. Helen gave him a nod in return. He was her pushiest friend, but in the most loving way.

  He turned to introduce the unfamiliar woman beside him—a new face to Helen. Her dark hair was swept back into an elegant twist. Her clothes were expensive, but understated. “This is my neighbor, Dr. Jayla Maloof. She moved here a few months ago, and I’ve finally convinced her to get out of the house and meet some people.”

  Helen greeted Jayla with a handshake, and liked her right away for the eye roll she gave Rick. The man loved to take credit anytime he managed to browbeat someone into doing something. To be fair, it was his incessant nagging that had pushed Helen to host this meeting. Rick was one of the few friends who refused to take the hint and leave Helen alone after Tony died. He never gave up on her, even when she’d given up on herself.

  Jayla’s voice was rich and warm, her words formal. It wasn’t exactly an accent, but she had a very precise way of speaking. “Your winery is beautiful, Helen. Thank you for having us here.”

  “I called Iris and offered her a ride,” Rick said, “but she was too tired to make it. That’s two meetings in a row she’s missed. That woman is way too old to be running that bed-and-breakfast alone.”

  “Ha!” Vickie laughed. “Don’t ever let her hear you use the o-word. And I thought she had that young woman next door helping her now? The one with the kids?”

  Rick shrugged. “That’s what I’d heard, but I’m guessing Iris isn’t about to give up too much control.”

  Iris Taggart was the club’s founding member. She was a bawdy, opinionated bulldozer of a woman, and Helen was sorry to hear she wasn’t coming tonight.